


Cake for Breakfast

by geekmama



Series: Time of the Season [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babies, Cake, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Romance, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 03:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10936101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: “No, you bloody cannot have cake for breakfast!” was the roar that greeted Molly as she trudged up the steps to 221B after a very long night at Barts....__________________________For the First Argument prompt for May 18th of Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017





	Cake for Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> For the ‘He’ prompt.
> 
>  
> 
> *******************************

 

“ _No, you bloody cannot have cake for breakfast!_ ” was the roar that greeted Molly as she trudged up the steps to 221B after a very long night at Barts. It had been her first graveyard shift since Daisy’s birth, an emergency for which Mike Stamford had begged all hands’ assistance. She’d been glad to do it, but she’d forgotten how exhausting such hours could be when one was no longer used to them. But Sherlock’s shout, no doubt directed at their young sons, made her sputter with laughter, and she suddenly felt lighthearted. 

She trotted up the few remaining steps and as she entered the flat she grinned at Sherlock, saying, “ _You’ve_ certainly changed your tune, now that you’re a staid middle-aged man and a father!” 

Cries of _Mum! Mummy!_ _Can’t we have cake? It’s almost like scones, You let us have scones for breakfast all the time!_ , rang out from Will and Jon as they rushed to her, nearly knocking her over with their enthusiastic hugs. 

“Thank God you’re home,” said Sherlock, looking both frazzled and angry. “I don’t care what Stamford says, no more graveyard shifts for you until the baby’s weaned, she was up half the night, refused to take a bottle, and now here are these brats trying to filch cake for breakfast when I specifically told them hands off!” 

“You said there’d be scones,” Will complained resentfully. 

“Will,” said Molly, sharply, “that’s enough. Though Mrs. Hudson did say she’d be baking this morning.” She turned to Sherlock. “Where is she? Is she alright?” 

“She’s fine, but her sister was taken ill and she’s gone off to Devon.” 

“Oh, no!” Molly exclaimed, “Is it serious?” 

“No, just a virus of some sort, but she’s pretty knocked up and Hudders is likely to be gone a few days. I just hope she doesn’t catch it herself.” 

“I’m sure she’ll be careful--” But Molly’s words were cut short by a wail from the bedroom. 

Sherlock groaned in frustration and gripped his already messy curls. “ _I just got her to sleep!_ ” 

Molly said, “Well, one can hardly  blame her, with all the shouting. But don’t worry, I’ll give her a good feeding and she’ll go back down like a lamb -- I’m fairly desperate to nurse, so it’s as well she woke up. See if she needs a fresh nappy, and I’ll start some porridge for these young savages, how does that sound?” She smiled down at her adorable (if occasionally maddening) sons. “Porridge with a bit of butter and honey?” 

“Yes, please!” said Jon eagerly. 

“Alright,” said Will, sulkily. “But can we try the cake later?” 

Sherlock growled, “You so much as _breathe_ on that cake and you’ll regret it. Your uncle sent that over specifically for your mother!” 

“Did he really?” Molly raised her brows, surprised and delighted. 

“It’s Princess Cake, from the dinner he attended last night at the Swedish embassy. He said it reminded him of you -- or wrote, actually, he sent the box round by courier with a note attached. Talk about misuse of government funds. _Yes, Daisy, I’m coming!_ ” 

As he stalked off to the bedroom, Molly herded her little sons into the kitchen, sat them down with half a banana each to tide them over, and proceeded to put their porridge together. It was only half finished cooking when Sherlock came in with a snuffling, tear-stained Daisy. 

“Here, you take this one,” said Sherlock, handing the baby over, “and I’ll finish making breakfast. And I may be middle-aged and a father, but I am not and never will be _staid!_ ” 

Molly chuckled. “I thought that would rankle.” She sat down at the table, and as she prepared to nurse her eager and now smiling daughter she continued. “But don’t’ you remember our first real argument? About _you_ wanting cake for breakfast!” 

He frowned at her. “That was _years_ ago!” 

“Not fair, Dad!” said Will. 

“You be quiet or you can do _without_ breakfast,” Sherlock told him.

“ _I_ remember it very clearly,” Molly told Will and Jon. “Uncle John was away and your father wanted me to assist him with an experiment, and promised me breakfast if I’d come over after my shift. But Mrs. Hudson had gone out with some friends and the only thing edible in this flat was half a chocolate cake John had bought a few days before. I was not happy, to say the least.” 

Sherlock shook his head. “What a fuss you made!” 

“I’d been working all night and I was starving! And my mouth was all set for that fry-up and scones you’d promised me.  And then trying to fob me off with tea and that horrid cake? You can’t blame me for being enraged.” 

“I took you to breakfast.” 

“So you did -- and _pouted_ the whole time.” 

“Counts as our first date, at least.” 

“It does not! You didn’t _ask_ me out, I just insisted you take me.” 

“And _I_ just gave in,” Sherlock huffed, then added provocatively, “No make-up sex on offer, either. I’d say you still owe me for that, Dr. Hooper.” 

Molly gaped. “But it wasn’t… we weren’t… ” But then she saw the teasing glint in his eye. 

“What’s make-up sex?” asked Jon. 

Molly felt herself blushing, and gave Sherlock a glare. 

But he merely looked down his nose at her and said to Jon, “It’s when mummy and daddy cuddle and hug and kiss for _hours_.” 

“Ewwwww!” said both boys together. 

Molly couldn’t help laughing. “You’ll understand when you grow up,” she told them, “just as your father has now seen the light, about that _and_ about cake for breakfast.” 

“Well, not entirely,” Sherlock said, giving the porridge a final stir before taking the pot off the flame. “As an adult, I reserve the right to eat cake for breakfast whenever the mood strikes. You two, however, will eat porridge and like it.” He ignored the boys’ protests as he poured the cereal into their bowls, added just a dab of butter, a dribble of honey, and a moat of cold milk to each, and presented them with a flourish. “There you go. Eat up.” 

“Or starve?” Will said, cocking his head. 

“Exactly so, precocious brat,” returned his father, carefully not smiling. 

Molly said, “It looks delicious!” 

“There’s enough for you, if you don’t want cake.” 

“Oh, porridge, please, by all means! We’ll share the cake later -- _if_ everyone is very well behaved today and allows mummy to catch up on her sleep.” 

Sherlock prepared two more bowls, one for himself, as well, and presently the whole family was peacefully enjoying a nutritious breakfast.

This state of affairs only lasted for a very short time, however. There was suddenly a rap at the door of the flat, a raucous voice calling “Hallo!!” and the sound of a light footfall that resolved itself into the person of Rosie Watson. “We’re going to the zoo!” she announced happily as she entered the kitchen. “Can Will and Jon come with us? Do you _all_ want to come? Oh, _please_ say yes!” 

The boys, who adored their lively “cousin”, had already burst into a chorus of, “Can we? Please?” when John walked into the kitchen, grinning at his daughter’s enthusiasm, but saying, “That’s enough, finish your breakfast, lads. Settle down, Rosie, can’t you see they’re still eating?” 

“I’m finished!” cried Will, pushing his bowl away, and Jon, of course, followed suit. 

Sherlock was eyeing the considerable amount of uneaten porridge in their bowls with disapproval, but before he could say anything, Molly told the boys, “You must finish it _all_ , and quickly, too, if you want to go.” When she saw them obediently retrieve their bowls and tuck in, she turned to John. “Would you mind just taking the boys? I was at Barts all night, and Daisy wasn’t happy about it at all.” 

“Ah!” said John, and turned to Sherlock, not quite deadpan. “So that’s why you look like something the cat dragged in.” 

Sherlock sighed. “I’d tell you to shut up, but if you’re going to take these brats off our hands for a while I’d do better to kiss your feet. Metaphorically speaking, at least.” 

“You’re certain you don’t mind, John?” asked Molly, once more. 

But John chuckled. “They’ll be fine -- or they know they’d better be, at least.” 

“I’ll take care of them,” said Rosie confidently. 

Will grinned, and Jon looked at her adoringly and said, “Rosie _always_ takes good care of us!”

 *

 A very few minutes later, the zoo-goers headed out, descending the stairs like a herd of small elephants. Molly and Sherlock sat listening to the racket fade away, and end as the door to 221B was closed behind them. 

Sherlock sat back with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “John is a bloody _saint!_ ” 

Molly smiled. “Rosie, too. And, incidentally, your daughter. Look!” Daisy had fallen sound asleep while nursing, and now lay back in her mother’s arms, limp and entirely lost to dreamland. 

Sherlock’s eyes were soft upon his baby girl, but after a few moments he raised them to catch Molly’s gaze. Their softness took on a distinct glint. “It’s nap time and no mistake,” he murmured. “And wasn’t there a recent mention of make-up sex? I could have sworn…” 

“There was. It was you who mentioned it, actually -- though you owe _me_ , Mr. Holmes, not the other way around.” 

“You have my sincere apologies for ever indicating otherwise,” he said as he stood up and came around to her side of the table to take Daisy from her. “Now, if you would care to accompany me to the bedroom, we’ll stash this one in her cot and I can begin to make amends.” 

But Molly just sat there, a tired, silly smile on her face. _Amends_. _And a long nap after. And Princess Cake. What did I do to deserve such happiness?_ She sighed blissfully, and said aloud, “I love you, Mr. Holmes.” 

He rolled his eyes and, pretending to lose patience, said, low but intense, “I know you do, isn’t that the bloody point? Come _on_ , Hooper! Get your sweet arse off that chair and into my bed _immediately!_ ” 

He led the way, carrying the baby, and she followed, chuckling. 

It was only later, when they’d finished and lay in each other's arms, sated and exhausted and on the edge of much needed sleep, that she heard him whisper, “I love you, too, Mrs. Holmes. More than my life,” and she had to rouse herself to kiss him, just once more.

 

~.~

 


End file.
